


A matter of infinite hope

by MissingMissFisher (bokchoynomad)



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: Brief war references, Close Quarters, Confessions, F/M, MFMM Year of Tropes, bottle episode
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-23
Updated: 2017-03-25
Packaged: 2018-10-09 20:38:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10421289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bokchoynomad/pseuds/MissingMissFisher
Summary: What happens when Phryne and Jack are forced to hide in a priest’s confessional booth whilst they are trailing a suspect?





	1. Judgement

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bill0014](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bill0014/gifts).



> Set towards the end of Season 3, here’s my “bottle episode” contribution to the March MFMM Trope Fic Challenge!
> 
> I've also dedicated this fic to @bill0014 as promised to help cheer her up from her cold today! Hope this aids in your rest and recovery a little, my dear!
> 
> And lastly, millions of hugs to my Phrack writing partner @comeaftermejackrobinson for all her amazing encouragement and time that she sacrificed to listen to my worries and to review my chapters as I started to write this! You are a treasure!

 

 

> _“Reserving judgements is a matter of infinite hope.”_
> 
> ― F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby
> 
>  

**judgement** (noun) ˈdʒʌdʒm(ə)nt/

  1. the ability to make considered decisions or come to sensible conclusions.
  2. the ability to form an opinion objectively, authoritatively, and wisely, especially in matters affecting action
  3. good sense; discretion.



   

“Quick, he’s just stopped suddenly up ahead!” Miss Phryne Fisher, lady detective, pulled on her partner’s arm to slow his quick stride. With another slight twist, she pivoted him around hurriedly to face her, effectively shielding herself from the suspect’s view.

“What is he doing now?” Detective Inspector Jack Robinson asked, trying to resist the urge to look over his shoulder. At the same time, he tried to resist the allure of her tempting fragrance wafting up to him as she stepped closer towards him to peer over his shoulder.

“He’s glancing at his watch…and making his way up those steps. Come on, Jack, we can’t lose him.”

She swung him about again and began tugging him along until he righted his balance. Then, the two of them hurried along at an awkward pace that would allow them to keep an eye on their quarry as well as not raise too much attention to themselves. As it turned out, they needn’t have worried as they approached the broad steps of a quaint-looking church tucked in between the busy street’s shops and other buildings. The clock on its tower struck the noon hour, prompting its bells to peal and call to the faithful to enter for midday mass.

The two detectives glanced at one another and wordlessly agreed to join a handful of late parishioners rushing up to the entrance just as the service began. Keeping to the side aisle, they spotted their suspect who had just slipped into a row of pews and moved along towards the edge before he knelt down. As though sensing their eyes on him, he lifted his head from his prayers, whether real or not, and started to glance back in their direction.

Before he could react, Inspector Robinson felt himself being pulled along again. But instead of a pew, Jack unwittingly found himself pushed inside a tight compartment that immediately darkened as his partner quickly followed and shut the door quickly behind her. Miss Fisher immediately stumbled due to the confining leg room, causing his arms to wrap around her waist and hips to hold her steady.

Unfortunately, the closed door also meant that she couldn’t step back so the inspector found his face buried against the ruffles of her fine silk blouse with the folds of her velvet coat tickling his ears.

“I’m beginning to get a very quick sense of déjà vu,” she could hear him mumble resignedly against her chest. “I suppose there’s no use in asking you to step back a little, Miss Fisher?”

“I'm afraid not. It’s a good thing we’re so well acquainted, Inspector, as it looks like we may be here for a little while!” He could hear her wicked smile as she slowly wound her arms around his neck.

“Of all the places we could have hidden, of course, you had to get us locked into a wardrobe.”

“Actually, Jack, I believe we are inside the church’s confessional booth.”

She quickly slid open a little window to the left of the inspector’s head allowing him to look out into part of the congregation since the curtain on the confessor’s side was drawn.

“I suppose that is some consolation. I can see the side of Givenchy’s head, so he is still here at least.”

“Well, then, we may as well get cozy, Jack, since mass could range anywhere between half an hour to an hour, I believe, depending on whether this church follows the same style as Dot’s.”

“Lord have mercy,” she thought she heard him mutter.

Miss Fisher then managed to twist herself around until she too was facing the door before manoeuvring herself unceremoniously down onto his lap. She wriggled slightly before learning her head back against his shoulder with a big sigh before also taking a peek out of the priest’s window.

Jack was grateful for the darkness of the booth that hid the deep blush he could feel flooding his face. He began to recite a few passages of Hamlet to himself as she continued to move about on his lap. Hoping she would notice that the tightening of his grip around her waist was a signal for her to cease her jostling, he squeezed her tightly. She didn’t seem to be getting the message. In fact, she only seemed to wiggle about even more.

“Miss Fisher, please!” She did pause momentarily at the strangled tone of his whisper. “Could you please keep still?”

“Just trying to find a comfortable position, Jack,” she whispered innocently in response.

“Then, let’s hope your swaying doesn’t collide with a comfortable cobweb or two in here as well.”

She immediately froze. “Not funny, Inspector.”

“I’ve mentioned before that I am a very serious man, Miss Fisher.”

“Well, in that case, Jack, I think it’s only fitting that we acclimate to our surroundings for this stakeout. You must make a confession to me about something that you’ve never told me before. In fact, something that you have never told anyone before.”

He smirked at the smug tone in her voice. “Usually, Miss Fisher, it is others who are making formal confessions to me. And, I actually think I prefer it that way.”

“I would be more than willing to confess to you, Inspector Robinson. Although, I’m not guilty of anything other than using a fine police officer as my chair at the moment.”

“I do recognise that this particular facility is used for a different manner of confession, which I must admit that I have no practice in. Especially as I am not Catholic, lapsed or otherwise.”

“I’m relieved to hear it, Jack, since I much prefer you continue to don your well-cut suits rather than a priest’s cassock.”

Again, his arms tightened around her before he whispered his reply. “I’m sure you are more than aware by now that I'm not in any danger of taking up the vows of celibacy, Miss Fisher. Especially right at this very moment.”

“Jack Robinson!” She started to turn around to bat at him playfully. Instead, she pushed a finger against his mouth and managed to jump off his lap instead just as someone entered the confessor’s side of the booth and knelt down after pulling the curtain.


	2. Confession

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Someone mistakenly enters the confessional, which prompts the detectives to make some revealing confessions of their own.

 

> _“Confession is not betrayal. What you say or do doesn't matter; only feelings matter. If they could make me stop loving you - that would be the real betrayal.”_
> 
> ― George Orwell, 1984

 

 **confession** (noun)

kənˈfɛʃ(ə)n/

  1. a formal statement admitting that one is guilty of a crime.
  2. a formal admission of one's sins with repentance and desire of absolution
  3. intimate personal revelations



 

 

“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been a week since my last confession.”

Jack froze in panic until Phryne poked him in the ribs to prompt him to say something.

“Er, yes, my child. I am listening.”

“Forgive me, Father, but I must leave mass early now. So, I wanted to confess my sin for that as well as for something else.”

“Continue.”

“I must return home before my husband realises that I have gone. He doesn’t like it when I’m not there to cook him breakfast when he wakes up. I, um, I wanted to confess my anger against him for coming home so late last night. And for taking it out on me…and scaring the children.”

Phryne grabbed his hand as she sensed the outrage bubbling up inside her inspector that mirrored her own.

“Did he harm them then? Or you?”

“Oh no, Father. At least, not last night. He mainly yelled at us. That’s why I wanted to confess and then return home soon to make sure he is not upset that I had gone to church.”

“Of course, my child. May God reward you for your, er, devotion. You are forgiven.”

“Praise be to God. Is there anything I need to do for penance, Father?”

“Only this. Next time your husband lifts a finger against you or any of your children, be sure to call the police immediately. Do not hesitate! I will, er, say a prayer for you and for your safety.”

“Oh, thank you, Father! I will remember to do so.” And with that, the faithful parishioner slipped out as quietly as she had appeared.

“Thank God, indeed, that you were able to give her that advice, Jack! The poor woman!”

“I may not be as forgiving as her God, but I will certainly do all in my power to protect her and those children should she contact the station next time.”

Phryne lifted a hand to the side of his face, her eyes growing sombre as she gazed at him with a pensive expression. Concerned at the sudden shift in her mood, Jack covered her hand with one of his own as he tried to read her thoughts.

“Phryne, what is it?”

“Jack, there is something I want to confess to you after all. I have been wanting to for some time now, but it just never felt like the right moment.”

“Phryne, you know you don’t have to share anything with me that you’re not comfortable with. But, equally, I am always here to listen to anything you might want to confide in me.” He squeezed her hand reassuringly.

“I know that, Jack, which is why I do want to tell you. It is something that has been bothering me ever since, well, since my father interrupted our dinner plans a few weeks ago. It has to do with something you said when you were talking about being a ‘liberal man.’”

Jack tensed instantly as his face pinched into one of utter guilt intermingled with anxiety. He opened his mouth just as she again placed her finger gently against his lips before he could say anything.

“The fact that you referred to Rene Dubois as part of my so-called ‘parade of men,’ was difficult to hear, I must admit. But, it also reminded me that I wanted to tell you about him and my time in Paris.”

Again, Jack flinched at her words because he could recall his outburst all too well. But, he respectfully remained silent and watched as she gathered her thoughts.

“I’ve never told you, or anyone really, besides Mac, and only a little to Dot, the truth of my time in Montparnasse. Jack, I feel I need to tell you because I don’t want you thinking that he was just another ‘old friend’ of mine.

“I suppose some might describe him, or what I felt for him at the time, as my ‘first love.’ I was still so young and naïve despite having survived the war and all that had entailed. After the armistice, all I wanted was to suck in every fresh lungful of air I could that wasn’t permeated with gas. I wanted to experience everything I could to remind myself of what it felt to be truly alive. I didn’t want to return to my stuffy and restricted life as a baron’s daughter in England. So, I remained in Paris after meeting the Sarcelles, and being introduced to the exciting world of bohemian artists and writers in Montmartre.”

Jack’s mouth turned up slightly as he could picture Phryne in her element as a celebrated artist’s model turning heads and the world upside down in that exciting milieu.

“That was when I met Rene Dubois, another celebrated artist, who literally swept me off my feet,” she recounted before frowning. “Unfortunately, in more ways than one. At first, he made me feel glorious and utterly adored and like the goddess he kept describing me as. I willingly basked in it all.

“But, I should have paid closer attention to some of the early warning signs with his temper. After all, I had witnessed them for most of my life with my father. At the time, I think I honestly believed that if I pretended to not see them, then they wouldn’t be real.

“By then, however, it was nearly too late when the violence increased, in both frequency and…and…brutality.” She paused as the painful memories that she had managed to bury fought to unleash themselves, flickering across her eyes.

Not able to bear the anguish and anger slicing through his own heart, Jack reached out to grasp her gently and pull her down into his arms again. She went willingly, breathing deeply in and out before continuing.

“Eventually, I was able to leave him, especially after Victor was killed. I couldn’t bear it any longer and was so grateful when Veronique was able to help me contact my parents, and to leave France without Rene knowing.”

“I’m so sorry that you had to endure such…despicable treatment from that bastard,” Jack growled quietly against her hair. “Death is too good for the likes of him.” He tightened his hold protectively around her.

“This is why I wanted to tell you, Jack,” she squeezed one of his hands, gaining comfort from his response. “You are a good man. I once told you that you are a man of honour. I know that you can become frustrated, and have seen you act in anger as well. But, it has always been when you’ve felt a great injustice against someone who couldn’t defend themselves. Against the senseless waste of life.

“I have learned a lot since my time in Paris, Jack. Even so, I think that there will always be some small part of me that will always be wary of anger, especially from men because of Rene and my father. It’s why I’ve never committed to any man before…”she trailed off hesitantly.

“It’s all right. I understand now, Phryne,” Jack reassured her. “Completely. Thank you so much for telling me. And, I must apologise for my awful outburst that evening, which I refuse to blame on my drunkenness. I should never have said those things to you, not like that.”

He really did appreciate the immeasurable gift she offered him of her trust in him. For choosing to reveal this significantly painful aspect from her past to him, and in so doing, revealing more of her heart to him than he dared hope. As often happened within their relationship, he was grateful for her ability to be so open and free because it helped to release him from his own more guarded inhibitions.

Knowing she was about to respond to his apology, he stopped her protest by continuing.

“Despite what I said earlier, there have been things that I have been wanting to share with you as well, Phryne.”

“Well, we certainly are in the right setting for confessions, Inspector,” she said to lighten the atmosphere slightly. Glancing out the little window, she leaned back and tucked her head back into the crook of his neck and shoulder happily. “Looks like we still have plenty of time as well judging from the all the incense being waved about out there.”

Jack couldn’t help the little smile on his face as he nuzzled her hair with his nose whilst gathering his own thoughts.

Sensing that he was still preparing himself to confide in her, Miss Fisher stopped moving, straightened up slightly, and quietly waited for what she felt would be a significant revelation.


	3. Absolution

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack feels compelled by Phryne's confession to make one, or two, of his own...

> _“There is a luxury in self-reproach. When we blame ourselves, we feel that no one else has a right to blame us. It is the confession, not the priest, that gives us absolution.”_
> 
> ― Oscar Wilde, The Picture of Dorian Gray

**absolution** (noun)

absəˈluːʃ(ə)n/

  1. formal release from blame or guilt,
  2. freedom, liberation, deliverance, release.



 

“It would seem we have both been of a similar mind, Miss Fisher,” the inspector began. “Lately, I have found myself wanting to share with you the reasons for why Rosie and I got divorced. About the truth of what happened in our marriage. I especially want to tell you now after what you’ve just confided in me…since some of it has to do with my anger.”

“Oh, Jack,” Phryne whispered tenderly as she shifted slightly so she could look into his eyes. “You don’t have to explain anything to me.”

“I want to though, Phryne. Like I said, especially in light of what you’ve just told me.”

She nodded then. “I’m listening, Jack.”

“Like your confession, most of mine also stems from the war and the end of it. Instead of embracing life as you did, however, I was so angry for so many different reasons. I was mostly angry at all the destruction of lives I had witnessed. I was angry that I was still alive when so many of my friends and fellow soldiers weren’t.”

“I know, Jack. All of us who survived have felt the same.”

“But, that was just it. When I finally arrived home, I still felt that way. There was no way that Rosie or anyone who wasn’t there could possibly understand. It wasn’t fair to expect that of her. Or to burden her with it all. So, eventually, I directed the anger at myself. Then, it grew when I wasn’t able to cope with the shell-shock either.”

Phryne responded by pressing in even closer against him so she could slip both her arms around him and offer him what comfort she could as he continued.

“Eventually, I was able to master the ability to close off my emotions. But, then, I had started to repress all of my feelings, even the good ones until I couldn’t remember how to express myself at all. There was no way I could explain it to Rosie, except to erupt now and then when I couldn’t contain it any more. By that point, I had begun to feel angry about other issues other than the war. Like not having the ambition that Rosie wanted.

“By that point, and especially after the policeman’s strike, I had already become adept at channelling my skills to solve things. I took on more and more cases, especially the open and difficult ones. I became even more driven to find justice for others because I couldn’t stand to see life being senselessly wasted any longer, like I had felt during the war.

“But Rosie wouldn’t understand. She kept wanting me to be seen saying and doing the right thing to the ‘right people’ so that I could be promoted and rise up the ranks. I understood that this was what she wanted. She had every right to wish for the husband with the high-profile job that she could boast about, and who could give her the benefits of the life that she had enjoyed growing up. Only, I knew by then that I couldn’t share that dream of hers, nor could I ever make it a reality for her. So I did what I knew best at that point…I simply withdrew. And then, so did she.”

“I’m sorry that you felt that way, Jack. That you no longer felt like you could be yourself. You should never feel like you should change yourself to please someone else.”

They both fell silent as the congregation rose in unison at that moment to sing a chorus. Phryne took the opportunity to stand up and stretch as much as possible in the confined space. She turned to see if Jack wanted to attempt the same when she noticed his concentrated expression.

“Jack?” She began to pull on his arm as much to catch his attention as to get him to move, concerned for his circulation. He woodenly reached for her to balance himself as he awkwardly rose to his feet. Phryne slipped onto his abandoned priestly bench, and enjoyed his cramped attempts to work out the kinks of his lean frame as it caused him to brush against her frequently.

Eventually, he stilled and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder when she started to stand up. He then surprised her by kneeling down by her feet, his eyes level with hers.

“What is it, Jack? I’m more than happy to relinquish your priest’s bench back to you.”

“Whilst we’re here, Miss Fisher, there’s something else I’ve been meaning to talk to you about.”

“Sounds serious,” she couldn’t help quipping, but he knew she was still taking him seriously. “Although, I do have it on good authority that confession is good for the soul.”

“Phryne, what you just said about never feeling one should change to please another,” he reached for her hands holding them up between them in supplication. “It just reminded me that I never did ask your forgiveness…”

“For what, Jack? What are you talking about?” Sensing his anxiety, she tightened her fingers around his in reassurance.

“For when I gave you up, Phryne. For when I walked out on ‘us.’ For abandoning you after your friend’s motorcar accident.”

“Oh, Jack, you don’t have to apologise. That’s all water under the bridge now.”

“Perhaps, but I still want you to really understand why I did it.” He stopped her from protesting by raising her hands and pressing them to his lips, almost in desperation. She remained silent, her eyes beckoning for him to continue.

“At that time, I felt so upset on several different levels. I had already been feeling so fed up over how I felt you kept taking unnecessary risks. I was always so anxious about the next time. The last straw snapped when I thought you had accidentally killed yourself killed in the car accident.

“On one level, I felt I could no longer work with you professionally because I felt you had so openly disregarded the very reason that fuelled my ability to do my job. To bring to justice those who had intentionally taken life from others. I felt that you were jeopardising this…code of mine, if you will, through your reckless behaviour. It made me feel helpless again, like I felt back there in the trenches.”

“It was too much to bear,” she whispered in understanding, moving her head closer to touch her forehead against his. “Now, I truly understand how much being in France had broken you, Jack, after having to witness all that needless destruction of human life. I’m sorry that my actions made you remember all that. That it made you lose faith in me.”

“No, Phryne, I’m sorry for hurting you by leaving and shunning you so selfishly. For not trusting you enough at the time to understand what I was experiencing. I should have tried to share my feelings with you instead of withdrawing like I did before with Rosie.”

“I’m so glad that you finally have told me, Jack. That it didn’t break up our partnership back then, and that it definitely won’t now.”

“I thought I was protecting myself at the time. But, I also can’t stop berating myself for deserting you essentially. I mean, not that you needed me, or were obligated to me then…or now. It’s just, I’m so ashamed of myself for running way when I should have been doing the exact opposite. So…will you forgive me then?” He looked up at her with eyes mirroring the warring emotions of fear and hope that were battering him deep down inside.

She gazed into his face steadily, exposing all the powerful emotions that she felt for him and willing them to vanquish the worry she witnessed in his eyes. She then slowly reached out to trace his face with her hands before placing a gentle kiss onto his forehead. This was followed by a more deliberate and solemn press of her red lips onto the corner of his downturned ones.

“Silly man, I already did. Long ago,” she whispered authoritatively leaning in towards him with expectation. “But, you can certainly still pay penance for it now.”

He obeyed at once by wrapping his arms around her waist. His lips then breathed multiple prayers filled with repentance as he allowed his mouth to express his love and adoration for the remarkable woman before him.

For the fact that she had not given up on him. Or them.

For the fact that she always reserved judgement whenever it came to others, especially him.

He eagerly accepted her ardent response in return, tasting her offered absolution to him, and drinking in the benediction that she so freely bestowed.

The sound of bells followed by the blast of the organ belting out the final hymn alerted them to the fact that mass had just ended.

Reluctantly, they pulled apart still basking in their zealous moment of communion with one another. Jack then turned and peered through the door to see that their suspect was starting to rise to his feet.

“Shall we go forth, Miss Fisher?” Jack turned back towards her with an outstretched hand.

“Indeed, Inspector,” she replied before a cheeky expression lit her beautiful face as she reached up to discreetly brush the remnants of her lipstick off of his. “Although, now that I know that attending church can be filled with such enlightenment, I may have to consider it more often.”

“Oh, I certainly agree,” he replied with a quirk of his eyebrow. “I highly recommend that we both come for regular confessions together in the future. In fact, why don’t we go nab our suspect so that we can return in time for vespers?”

“Amen to that, Father Jack!”

The general din of chatter moving past their hiding place gave them the cover they needed for him to open the door wider. The two of them emerged into the light and slipped into the crowd, only startling a few nearby parishioners who happened to see them.

Then, Miss Fisher reached out to weave her hand through her inspector's arm before whirling about and speeding off as he hurried to keep up with her.


End file.
